


The Tramp with the Heart of a Golden Sheep

by kayliemalinza



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-23
Updated: 2008-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James accuses Jack of being a tramp. Jack valiantly defends his honour. Except it's really not about that at all. Silly, sweet, ridiculous and sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tramp with the Heart of a Golden Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> According to [Dictionary.com](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/tramp), the word "tramp" meaning "vagabond" stems from at least 1664 while the alternative definition "a promiscuous person" didn't come into fashion until 1922 so technically the entire basis of this fic is anachronistic. WHATEVER.
> 
> This fic is not intended to be slut-shaming, for what intent is worth. The execution of that intent must be judged by the reader.
> 
> This is set during the magical (read: non-canonical) period wherein Norrington is scruffified and a member of the Black Pearl's crew, but the whelps and the Kraken are nowhere to be seen. James has been with the Pearl for a while.
> 
> The quote at the very end is from Act V of the play Edward II by Christopher Marlowe.

Surprisingly, the former Commodore had taken quite well to Tortuga. It wasn't a surprise to Jack, actually, because Jack knew that anyone would like Tortuga if given the right opportunity, seeing as it was perfect haven of salaciousness and mischief. He especially figured that James would like it, seeing as the former Commodore had bloomed heartily in the nurturing glow of raucous companionship and extra rum rations during his weeks on the Pearl. Especially the rum rations.

But though the drink had drawn James into the pub to begin with, the whirl of dancers on the open floor had the stronger pull. After a respectable amount of rum, James was on the dance floor, taking a spin or two with every skirt that crossed his path. His legs were strong and oddly graceful for one so drunk, but Jack supposed that came of all the swordplay. Where James got his grabby arms, however, Jack hadn't a clue. Surely swordplay didn't train a person to cup their partner's waist so snugly. Nor their breasts.

Soon, James discovered that not every skirt contained a feminine nature (Jack had learned this lesson long ago) and goggled.

"You, madam, are a _man!_ " he cried.

"Aye, sailor, but I can give all the pleasures a woman can and more," the non-woman madam whispered, rubbing the soft stubble of his cheek against James' neck.

James tilted his head to the side, considering the rubbing and the way the boy's hips were sharp and insistent beneath his plush red dress. "Would this be more vile and dissolute than laying with a woman?" James asked curiously.

The boy-whore lowered his lashes coyly. "If you so wish it."

"Then lead the way, damned tempter!" James cried, and let the young man lead him from the tavern by the lapels of his coat.

 

James returned quite some time later, looking no more disheveled than before (not that it meant much). Soon after, the boy stumbled into the tavern and sat gingerly at Gibbs' table, his eye wide and a little glazed, pink mouth panting open. Gibbs pushed a pint of rum his way.

"Here, lad. This'll put hairs on your chest," Gibbs said friendly-like. At the end of the table, Jack sniffed and looked the other way.

The young man slowly shifted his gaze at the tankard, eyes focusing somewhere to the left of its shiny lip. After a moment he pushed the rum away and said, still dazed but determined: "I don't want rum. I want him _again!_ " He stood and wavered to the open floor where James had pulled a passing barmaid into a foxtrot. James released the barmaid to her duties as the boy executed a perfect swoon into his arms, pulling his head down to kiss and whisper at his ear. Over the din, Gibbs could hear the former Commodore exclaim, "Again? Well alright then, but just once more!" He swung the boy into his arms like a bride and made for the door, the red silk dress trailing artfully behind.

Gibbs laughed and reclaimed his tankard for a swallow, chancing a glance at Jack's face. Fortified by drink, he patted the table near Jack's arm, not brave enough to pat the arm itself. "He's just sowing some wild oats," Gibbs said soothingly.

Jack narrowed his eyes, still staring at the door James had disappeared through. "The field he's sowing them in is a _tramp_ ," he hissed.

Gibbs shrugged and went back to his rum, seeing no reason to argue with fact.

Jack slammed down his rum. "Call of nature," he gritted, not sounding convincing in the slightest. He stumbled off in pursuit of his wayward former Commodore.

 

He found James and the boy-whore in an alley, tupping against a wall. Jack stomped right up to them and wagged his finger.

"Alright, you hussy, you've already had him tonight!" Jack scolded. "Now you're just being greedy!"

James glanced up at Jack and blinked. "Did you want a turn?" he asked, still patiently thrusting.

"Not _now!_ " whined Jack. "You've got whore cooties!"

James rolled his eyes and shifted the boy to a better position. "I don't see how it makes a difference," he muttered. The boy smirked at Jack and hiked his leg higher up on James' back; his skirt drifted further up his thigh.

"Whores is got all kinds of diseases, James," Jack pointed out.

"But you've bedded all of them," James drawled, "so what does it matter?"

Jack didn't have a good answer for that, so he turned on the boy. "That dress doesn't flatter you at all!" he snapped.

The boy rolled his pale, round shoulder in a lazy shrug. "At least I put it to good use."

"I think his dress is quite lovely," James said, clutching said dress more tightly as he sped his thrusts from 'leisurely' to 'purposeful.' "And it's not very nice to say such things, Jack."

"It's not very nice to be a brazen harlot, either, but he pays no mind!" Jack protested.

"Oh, _do_ shut up," moaned the boy, arching back. James nuzzled at his sweat-sheened neck and grunted. Jack seethed.

 

Soon the coital encounter came to an end, and James gently lowered the boy to his feet. "Our affairs are settled to your satisfaction, I presume?" he drawled, fastening his trousers.

"Yes, quite," the boy-whore said breathlessly. He smoothed out his skirt. "Thanks ever so."

" _Thanks ever so_ ," mocked Jack. The boy narrowed his eyes and hissed something about Jack's mother, and there might have been an altercation if James hadn't insinuated himself between the two and set the boy on his way with a friendly pat on the rear.

Jack watched him go with his arms across his chest, resolutely Not Pouting. "He's a tramp," Jack pointed out cattily.

"So are you," James said, pulling a bottle of rum from God knows where and swigging it.

Jack gasped. "I beg your pardon!"

"Would you like me to repeat it?" James asked solicitously.

"It certainly doesn't bear repeating, seeing as it's ridiculous and preposterous and entirely not true," sniffed Jack. He put his hands on his hips. "I am not a tramp!"

James smirked and strode away.

Jack skittered after him. "What on earth gave you that idea? My virtue is unassailable, I'll have you know!" He trotted backwards in front of James, stepping double-time to keep from being bowled over by James and his damnably long legs. "Really man, it's not as if I give meself up to anyone what wants a kiss!"

James snatched Jack by the neck and kissed him: aggressive sweeps of tongue, fingers tangling in lovelocks, gentle nips and pulsing slide of lips. Jack clutched at James' collar and melted, humming at the snug safety of James' arm around his waist.

James pulled back and shook Jack a little bit until his eyes opened. "I rest my case," he said.

Jack fell flat in the dust as James released him and moved on. "That proves nothing!" he cried, scrambling up and following James again. "Simply because I let one person, with whom I have a prior acquaintance, mind you, get his paws on me doesn't mean I'll do it fer any stranger on the street!"

"Excuse me, miss?" called James. A woman swishing her hips at the corner of the street looked over. "Will you come over here, please?"

She smiled and sashayed over. "Can I do something for you?" she asked.

"Miss, do you know my friend?" James asked, gesturing to Jack.

"I'm his friend," Jack said proudly.

The woman studied Jack, her fingers playing idly at the lace of her low-cut bodice. Her breasts bobbled subtly. "Can't say I've ever seen him before," she said.

"Excellent," said James. "Would you mind giving him a bit of a kiss? It's purely for the sake of argument."

"Of course," the woman said sweetly, and leaned in. Her lips were soft and her mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon. She licked Jack's teeth and when his mouth fell open for her, a whimper trickled out.

"My thanks for your time and services, miss," James said (it sounded very muffly to Jack) and then all the warm squishy stuff went away, even the cinnamon. Jack fluttered his hands out to grab it back, but James clasped them firmly and led Jack further down the street. He looked very smug.

"That proves nothing," muttered Jack. " _Anyone_ would kiss her."

James glanced down at him and frowned. "Fair enough," he said. "Madam?"

"Would it be at all possible to _not_ be doing this?" Jack whined. He tried to slip behind James' back, but James spun to the side and pushed Jack right into the very large bosom of a very large woman.

"Oh," said Jack. He poked the bosom. "These are quite nice."

"I'm Evie, luv," said the woman, who was missing a few teeth.

"Nice to meet you, Evie," Jack said.

Evie grinned and lifted his wrists up to her chest. "Put your hands down the bodice, dearie, get a good grip," she said.

Jack giggled and did just that. While he was occupied with the delightful bob and jiggle, Evie mashed her lips to his face and slurped. Jack went a bit dizzy from lack of air, making his face tingle nicely. Evie tasted strongly of rum and her tongue seemed to stroke every palate and molar. It was an _experience_.

Finally, Evie pulled his hands from her bodice and walked away, leaving Jack alone and covered in spit.

"Would that qualify as 'giving oneself up,' would you say?" James asked, courteously holding out a handkerchief.

"Did you see how big they were?" Jack said, pushing away the handkerchief and glancing around for his hat, which had gotten knocked off in the mauling. "What sort of full-blooded man would ignore that?" The hat, he discovered, was tucked safely under James' arm. Useful man.

"Perhaps," James said, grabbing Jack by the chin and wiping his face, "we should find someone who doesn't have any breasts at all."

Jack made a noise in agreement, eyes half-closed. James' fingers were firm-yet-gentle on his jaw, and the handkerchief was surprisingly soft. Jack's body was still thrumming quietly from all the attention and the rum and really, none of this was quite fair.

"I think that man in the corner might do," James said, returning the handkerchief to his pocket.

"Hmm?" said Jack, feeling a bit hazy. "Wot?"

"Over there, next to the tavern door," James said.

Jack squinted. "I don't see anyone."

"Over _there_ , Jack," James said, and pointed Jack in the right direction.

Jack stared at the tavern door dutifully, leaning against James' side more and more heavily until James wrapped an arm around to keep Jack from falling. The hat clung tenuously between James' hip and elbow. "I don't see anyone."

"Just to the left of the door, with the enormous buttons," James said. Just then, the man in question took a step forward into the light and Jack jumped a step back, clutching at James' coat.

"I have standards!" Jack shrieked.

James tilted his head to the side, studying the unfortunately well-lit figure. "He looked handsomer in the shadows," he said with a somewhat apologetic tone. "I suppose even tramps must draw the line somewhere."

"Exactly," said Jack. "As in, that's exactly what I would say if I were a tramp, but I am decidedly not one. I need a drink." He slipped away from James and staggered towards the tavern, plastering himself to the wall and doorjamb to avoid his erstwhile kissing victim.

 

Jack managed to get himself a pint and a seat at the back without further molestation (unless one counts a passing fondle from the barmaid, but that was hardly unusual.) James was off getting his own pint and being devilishly slow about it, but Jack was quite content without the rabble-rousing reprobate looming about.

Jack sulkily slurped his rum. He was sulky because James had his hat, that was all.

"Back from your errand, Cap'n?" Gibbs plunked down next to Jack, smiling hopefully.

"You're not going to kiss me, are you?" asked Jack.

Gibbs blinked at him a bit, then sputtered into his rum, then drank a bit of it and wiped his mouth. "I don't mean any offense, Jack, but I'm not really keen on kissing you."

"Good man," said Jack. "Stay here. I have a very important duty for you." He leaned in conspiratorially and said, very seriously, "I need you to protect my virtue."

Gibbs nodded. "Of course, Cap'n." He cocked his head to the side. "Is that a sort of secret code?"

"No, it's not a code!" cried Jack. "I need you to prevent unscrupulous parties from performing lascivious acts upon my person!"

Gibbs looked confused. "Why would you want me to be doin' that, exactly?"

" _Because I'm as pure as the driven snow!_ " Jack shouted. "I'm as chaste as Diana's nymphs! I—watch where you're going!" Jack barked at the barmaid (a different girl than the one who'd groped him) who had spilled a tankard of ale all over his lap.

"Sorry, guv'nor!" cried the girl, dropping to her knees.

"It's alright, luv, just rub it dry," said Jack, slouching on the bench to give her easy access. "Use a bit more pressure... there's a good girl."

A passing sailor shook his head and took the rag from the maid. "No no, it's soaked through his breeches already. You've got to get it from the inside out," he said, and shoved his hand down Jack's trousers.

Jack gasped and grabbed the sailor's shirt, pulling him closer. The sailor just laughed and hauled Jack to his feet, planting a hearty buss on his lips. Jack began thrusting helplessly but the sailor pushed him backwards into another person's arms, and they groped and pushed him to another, then another and so on, and it was a kaleidoscope of breath and skin and dipping tongues. Jack was frenzied, cresting on the edge of release, grasping for any flesh in reach and screaming, "Who's next? Who's next? For the love of God, isn't someone going to finish me off?!"

Into the miasma came a cool, authoritative voice saying, "Come on, then, before you make an even greater fool out of yourself," and Jack was dragged out of the pub. He threw himself against his rescuer and burrowed into the hard body, thighs climbing of their own accord, sending them both against a wall and forcing James to wrap his arms around the pirate lest he fall. Jack thrust frantically, mashing his lips against James' lips, keening at the tongue that squirmed inside his mouth and made him shiver from his molars to his toes. He was crushed and hot and everything was rushing higher, faster, almost there and _yes_.

Jack's heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. His legs, still wobbly, slid down to touch the earth again. James was yielding and encompassing so Jack molded to him, ignoring the slight stickiness in his trousers. He glanced around muzzily; the wall they were propped against was part of a quiet alley, and nothing beyond that seemed worth paying attention to. He pressed his face to James' neck. His mouth felt loose and fragile, like a fraying loop of string.

"I don't like the word 'tramp,'" Jack said, sounding very small.

James chuckled and Jack imagined he felt the press of lips against his hair. "Slut, then? Harlot? Trollop? Floozy?"

Jack delicately cleared his throat. "I would prefer to be called a 'rake,'" he said.

James patted Jack on the back, and (Jack _wasn't_ imagining it!) surreptitiously kissed Jack's forehead. "I believe that word implies some sort of initiative on your part, rather than slack-jawed submission."

"I want to be a rake!" Jack whined.

James pushed Jack away and replied, "Call yourself whatever you like, Sparrow. It won't change the fact of the matter."

"Aye," said Jack, hanging onto James' shoulders for a moment until he was sure of his legs. "And you may call yourself a rascal, if you like, and engage in foolhardy play-acting with conveniently beskirted lads, but just as surely as I am blessed with an enormous capacity for indiscriminate romance, dear Norrington, you are _not_ blessed with such a capacity." He jabbed an accusatory finger at James' chest. "Your heart is as shy and guarded as a golden sheep!"

"I don't quite follow," James said, scrunching his face up in confusion and suspicion.

Jack noticed that James' lips were swollen and shiny. He collected himself and continued: "I may kiss every acceptable person in sight—"

"So you admit you are a tramp," James pointed out victoriously.

"Shut it," snapped Jack. He sniffed officiously and continued. "You neglect to bestow the gift of your lips as generously as I do, even upon disgraceful greedy boy-whores," he said in his best explaining-voice. "You only kiss people who tickle your romantic fancy. Or, seeing as 'tickle' implies some sort of light-heartedness on your part," he added snidely, "I should better say that you are only inclined to give a kiss to an extraordinary personage with whom you wish to pursue amorous relations in a most sensitive and respectful manner."

James looked uncomfortable and tried to squirm away, but Jack stepped quickly to block his egress.

"Now, former Commodore, it may have escaped your notice, but my heightened perceptional abilities have brought to my attention the incontrovertible fact that the only person you have kissed tonight is _me_." Jack stepped back and put his hands on his hips, proud as punch of his deductory skills.

James didn't look nearly as proud; his brow was furrowed and his fingers flicked at the cuffs of his coat. "I—" He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "You are not remiss in concluding that I—harbor romantic feelings for you. But rest assured that I will never pressure you, nor approach you in a manner which makes you... uncomfortable."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You didn't have much of a problem with insulting me virtue and throwing me into the path of molestation."

"I believe the phrase is 'throwing one into the path of _temptation_ ,'" James said. "And I notice you didn't complain much."

"I couldn't!" said Jack. "Me mouth was full."

James declined to comment on that. "What I meant was that I do not expect the same amount—no, nor the same quality of affection from you." He scraped his boots on the ground, glancing at the tracks they left in the dust. "It would perhaps be best if we didn't speak of this again."

Jack moved in and plucked at James' collar; James caught Jack's wrists and tried to push him away, staring ashamedly to the side.

"Jack, please...." he whispered.

Jack twisted in the grip; it was an awkward, gentle struggle, and Jack put his hands behind his back, bringing James' arms with them. He tugged the arms until they curved around his waist, and settled into the reluctant embrace. "I'll have you know, James," he said, rubbing James' jaw with his cheek, "It is not in my nature to interrupt another man's dalliance with a whore."

James made a tiny noise of protest, kissing Jack's temple as if compelled to.

Jack gave a tiny lick to James' ear lobe and continued. "Such activities are a God-given right, unlessing of course it inconveniences me, and in this particular instance the said dalliance was most inconvenient, due to the fact that the identity of the man involved when placed in conjunction with the otherwise palatable concept of a dalliance with a whore did cause me most uncomfortable pangs of jealousy, which I simply will not tolerate." He leaned back to study James' face. "Savvy?"

James' face went queer and closed-up like a battered trunk. "Did you see something shiny that you wanted, then?" James said carefully.

"Aye," Jack said, smiling in hopes of making James smile back. "You're verra shiny, mate. A treasure."

James pulled Jack in closer and pressed his cheek to Jack's temple. "A piece of gold to keep hidden in your pocket," he said. Jack couldn't see his face, but James' voice was thick and twisted like a tree root and Jack didn't know what to make of that. "Something to show off to your fellows, perhaps trade away for a bottle of rum."

"I've lost track of the metaphor," Jack said, frowning.

There was a slight pause. "I dropped your hat," James said. He tugged away from Jack and stepped across the alley to scoop it up. He brushed half-heartedly at the dust on the brim, silhouetted against the flickering street. "I apologize for my manner," he murmured. "I won't ask anything of you," he said, turning the hat to clean the other side.

"The only thing a man won't ask for is something he doesn't want," Jack pointed out, feeling a little peevish.

"Or something he doesn't expect to get," James replied sharply.

"Even if you don't expect to get it, what the harm in asking?" Jack demanded.

James' head snapped up, and even in the darkness Jack could feel the stare skewer into him, harsh and hurt and disbelieving.

"You are abominably ignorant," James rasped. He shoved the hat at Jack and spun away. The hem of his coat snapped out as he left the alley.

Jack uttered a filthy oath and jammed his hat on his head, scampering from the alley in pursuit.

"I'm going to toss her overboard!" he yelled at Norrington's back. At least, he thought it was Norrington's back. Everything was a bit dark and flickery and his sudden movement had reminded Jack that he was still rather drunk. "I'm going to shear off her hair and shove it down her throat! _I'll slit her nostrils!_ "

It was Norrington's back, because it swiftly transformed into Norrington's front, and Norrington was stalking towards Jack. "What the hell are you talking about?" he hissed.

"That manipulatory strumpet!" Jack bellowed. "That heedless wench! And don't act as if you don't know who I'm talking about."

"Do not dare to insult Miss Swann," James growled.

"So you _do_ know who I'm talking about!" Jack cried triumphantly. "That proves my point  
exactly."

"You don't have a point," James spat. "You're merely raving."

"And you're being most rude and unkind, dear James, by not allowing me the chance to express my point!" Jack countered. "I henceforth submit for your consideration the exceedingly well-reasoned hypothesis that _Miss Swann_ ," Jack sneered, as if she were unworthy of even a name, "has so immorally and cruelly mistreated you that I, a most agreeable and honourable suitor, am heartily disadvantaged by her depravious doings!"

"Honourable!" James bellowed. He held an arm out to address the passersby. "Jack Sparrow thinks he is _honourable!_ "

Jack drew his pistol. "My good sir, that is the second time tonight you have insulted my character!"

James pulled out his own pistol. "Do you wish to duel, then? For you have insulted the character of a young lady known most fondly to me, and I will defend her!"

" _Defend_ her!" Jack screeched. "She lied to you, betrayed you, conspired to place you and your men in the path of grievous harm! She manipulated your most tender feelings to her own ends!"

"You did much the same!" James shouted.

"But you didn't expect anything else from me, did you?" Jack spat. "Oh no, I'm a _pirate_ , and can't possibly have any sort of moral center. I marvel, former Commodore, that your highly sophisticated, impossibly rigid and unbelievably _tight-arsed_ sense of morality can excuse her actions yet condemn my lesser charges! Even more interesting," he said, advancing on James, "that you willingly give up any hope of earning her affections, but then attach your romantic inclinations to my more accessible person. Is it possible that I am nothing more than a replacement for your charming temptress?"

"Don't be absurd," James sneered, smacking Jack's pistol away with his own when it wavered too near his chest. It made a satisfying _thunk_. "As if you could possibly be a replacement for anyone else. You're an entirely new species of scallywag—"

" _Thank you!_ " said Jack.

"—plumbing previously unheard-of depths of knavery and buffoonery!"

"Thank you!" yelled Jack.

"Miss Swann has absolutely no hope of ever acquiring your questionable skills of madness, depravity, and scheming!" James shouted.

"THANK YOU!" Jack bellowed. They fell silent and glared at each other, seething. After a moment, Jack turned his head sniffily and rubbed one of his coat buttons. "You have not yet satisfactorily answered my concern as to the convenient displacement of your affections from Miss Swann's person to meself," he said.

James rolled his eyes and put his pistol away. "That concern is completely absurd. During the period of my infatuation with Miss Swann, she was furthest possible creature from you. She was genteel, well-mannered, highly-placed in society—"

"So she transformed overnight, then?" Jack pointed out waspishly.

"Your influence, I expect," James sniped back.

"On the contrary, former-Commodore!" Jack cried, holstering his own pistol and sauntering forward. "If you will allow me to put forth for your consideration the notion that despite your troublesome proclivity for cherishing lofty ideals, you were perceptive enough even ere my entrance into your dullish and suffocating lives to realize that Miss Swann was not the well-behaved girl she appeared to be!" Jack draped an arm across James' shoulders and murmured in his ear, "Or did I imagine the approving and mischievous look on your face as you handed her a pair of trousers to wear?"

James brushed Jack away. "You must have imagined it," he said with a troubled and reminiscent look on his face.

"I did not!" cried Jack, clasping the former-commodore again. "It occurs to me, James, that perhaps you have a natural attraction to rascals."

"And what has that given me?" shouted James, shoving him away. Jack stumbled back, eyes widening as James began to bellow, swiping his arms about in short, aggressive gestures. "What good has come of any of my attractions, my ridiculous imaginary affairs? I can hardly expect a rascal to treat me with like kindness and fidelity, to cleave to my side beyond my years of strength, to support me in my endeavors? No, a rascal will only draw me further into his depravity, never mind the pain it causes my soul, only to toss me away when it becomes apparent that my honour is not as flexible as he would like!"

Jack stared at James, at the angry heaving of his shoulders, his darkened face, the shadows of his eyes beneath his brow. Jack quirked a water-thin grin at him, feeling small and crumbly in the face of all of this. "But it'll be plenty of fun in the meantime, eh?"

James split his face with a hard sneer and bowed. "Thank you, Captain Sparrow, for proving my point precisely."

"You're welcome," said Jack. He felt very tired all of a sudden, and had a bit of a headache. "As a gesture of gratitude, I assume you'll consider me very own perspective, seeing as the issue is such a sticky one."

"Oh, yes, gladly," James said sarcastically, turning and walking away. "I'm sure there's a great deal of uncertainty and ill-ease on your part."

"There is!" Jack yelled out to him.

"I'm sure," James called over his shoulder.

Jack rolled his eyes and trotted after. "While I'm so bent on corrupting you, what are you doing, eh? Just standing by quiet-like while the man you purport to love secures himself an estate in the halls of Hell? Not at all, former-Commodore. I expect you'll set about tricking me into a life of honour, and making me sober to boot!"

"As if that were possible," James scoffed.

"You've started already, ye sneakish lad!" Jack cried. "I haven't had a drink in nearly an hour!"

"You're hardly sober," James pointed out.

"I'm in danger of someday becoming sober, and that's not a risk I take lightly, let me assure you!" Jack said, catching James by his elbow and spinning him round to wag a finger in his face. "I'm nearly a saint for putting up with your manipulatory officiousnesses and Sunday lectures! You spent a year of your life trying to get me behind bars—and you attained that high and mighty aspiration once or twice—but I suppose I can just believe that you'll stop all that now that you love me, eh?"

"There's also the small matter of my decommission," said James, glancing down the red-hatched street and the purple docks beyond.

"Ha!" said Jack. "A mere diversionary measure!"

There was a flicker-widening of James' left eye, and then his voice went deep and coily: "A _mere_ divers—"

"Do you deny that you have designs upon my spiritual person?" Jack interjected. James looked ready to fire his tongue again so Jack repeated, "Do you have any such designs, good sir!"

James shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Such designs would be highly hypocritical," he said.

"Even if you were intending to improve your own spiritual station?" Jack pressed.

James spun slowly on his heel and headed again for the docks. Jack skittered to keep up and opened his mouth to ask again, but James shot the answer at him sideways: "My behavior this evening should prove even to a personage with such an off-kilter moral compass as yourself that my spiritual station is scarcely in danger of improvement."

"S'temporary, luv," said Jack, sounding more approving than he meant to.

"And thus your objection," James spat.

Jack shook his head, stumbling a bit. James really needed to do something about those long legs and the resultant stride. "'Twas only an objection t' yer objection!" he said. "And if you catch me in an honest moment I'll tell you that both objections are dotty. I never ken why you're so worried about the fripperies of—" he skipped around a barrel blocking his path. "—honor an' society and all that—"

"Here is a second objection, then," James said, spinning so that his coat swung snappily behind him. They were close enough to the docks that tavern lamps spread butter on one shoulder and the moon smeared sweet cream on the other."Even in my lowest moments, I refuse to gift my affections to someone who cannot return even a fraction of them." He looked away, staring at a mast in the distance because his training or his remaining Naval spine would not allow him to look at his feet. "It is not vanity. I have worshiped at the feet of coldness and I considered it an honour. But now my heart is such—" He inclined his head, fixing Jack with eyes so keenly broken they made him believe a wound could be a knife. "I cannot do that again. Not so soon."

Jack just stared back, his lower lids creeping up. His brow was creasing dangerously and when Norrington sighed and tramped away again like some too-old man, Jack followed. His knuckles brushed the back of James' hand as they walked.

"I'm quite warmish, actually," Jack murmured. "An' if you pardon me saying so, dear James, your heart has no such silly ideas about can'ts and won'ts no matter what foolishness slips past your lips. Your refusal is just more play-acting, is all."

James, stubborn sot that he was, opened those self-same lips to protest, but Jack tightened his grip (their fingers had almost imperceptibly entwined) and pushed the former-Commodore, all six-something feet of him, into a darkened cranny made of crates. Their boot-soles clomped against the dock, and James' back went thump against a crate, then Jack was stopping those lips from being fools again. James was stolid, he pressed away from Jack, but Jack kept on and when James' hands fisted in the sleeves of Jack's coat they clutched him closer.

Jack broke the kiss at last, only to keep his hat from falling off. He jammed it more firmly on his head, one hand still tangled up in James' hair as if he'd flee. "Ol' Jack knows what's what," Jack stated, smirking.

Norrington shook his head and kissed the corner of that smirk. "You take advantage of my intoxicated state," he said. Jack couldn't see his expression in the shadows, so he performed some tactile reconnaissance (first with fingertips, then mouth) to assure himself that James' lips were curling upward in a smile, if somewhat ruefully.

"Pardon me piratey tactics," Jack said. "I intend to keep you in such a state, seeing as it's necessary for the mutual well-beingness of all parties concerned." He rubbed his thumb against some particularly shiny brocade. "And you're quite good at drunken shanties."

James' laugh was sudden, half-loud. He buried the follow-up snickers in Jack's neck, biting with a calculated soft-like twinge that Jack supposed he learned from the trollop in the torn red dress. Jack decided he didn't mind; jealousy was unimportant when one was holding the prize. Or vicey versy.

James was pulling Jack's shirt from his sash. "It seems I am lashed to Fortune's water wheel," he murmured. "And seeing there was no place to mount up higher—" fingers curling over scars and ribs "—why should I grieve at my declining fall?" He paused and lifted his head from Jack's neck with a pondering look. "That's not quite right," he said. "I could have reached higher, and I did grieve." His fingers, paused at Jack's waist, pressed in at the impatient squirm. "What I mean to say is—"

"Yer going where the tide takes you, luv," said Jack. He yanked at the tucked-in tail of James' belt. "Tha's all."

"Ah," said James. His fingers knocked into Jack's as he undid the buckle. He shifted closer, dropped a tiny laugh onto the curl at Jack's temple and whispered, "Aye, luv."


End file.
